hiatus :(

⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝗢𝗥𝗘𝗟𝗢𝗡, 𝗈𝖿 𝗆𝗂𝗌𝗍𝗐𝖺𝗋𝖽. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝙵𝙸𝙻𝙴𝚂 𝙾𝙵 #𝓓𝖠𝖤𝖬𝖮𝖭𝖤𝖲 ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀𝖺 𝗆𝖺𝗂𝗇𝗅𝗒 𝗅𝗂𝗍𝖾𝗋𝖺𝗍𝖾 𝗉𝗈𝗋𝗍𝗋𝖺𝗒𝖺𝗅. ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀#fandomlessrp ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ♡ & ↻ ⠀

...What are the potential consequences?

huh. he seems very nice.

Ah, something they have in common, then— though Orelon has no clue who’s done it. He shakes his head. “I’ve been called many things, but never Ana,” he replies. “So— who were the people you were calling to? Your friends?”

One can never be too careful with strangers. “I’m Orelon,” he replies, voice nearly a mumble. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to, to intrude.”

He isn’t sure who those people are, but... “Hello?”

blinks.

He’s met plenty of werewolves in his day, and they carry a very distinct scent— yes, Orelon can tell he isn’t human. The dragon shrugs. “I mean, there aren’t many of us. It makes sense.”

He blushes a little at how surprised he is, staring down at the table for a long moment. “Yep,” he chuckles shyly, interlacing his fingers in his lap.

“Yes, a dragon, now shush!” he whispers urgently. “Jeez. No need to spread it around.” He’s running a hand through his curls, leaving them in disarray.

He hesitates before answering, but eventually replies, “Yes. I’m a dragon,” he replies. “There aren’t many of us left, of course, but I heal those who are.”

“Well, I do use ‘herbs and whatnot,’ but my kind calls them healers,” he insists petulantly. Orelon can never be too careful— dragons have been hunted for too long for him to let his guard down.

Orelon cocks his head, assessing the other’s threat. He hadn’t tried to hurt him that day in the forest, nor in their encounter now... but one could never be too careful. “I’m not a witch,” he replies with a chuckle.

Orelon rolls his eyes and grins back, but makes no further comment. “What col—? Oh, it’s probably just the herbs I work with,” he says quickly— perhaps 𝒕𝒐𝒐 quickly. “I’m a healer.”

A light blush appears on his cheekbones, and he huffs. “Yeah, well. I wasn’t paying attention,” he objects.

He’s red as a berry; he shyly buries his face in his shoulder to hide the color staining his features. “Mhm. Sure,” he objects.

He jumps about a foot in the air at the sight.

He’s making a pot of tea. Anyone care to join?

Oh— this new blush is more than little. “You’re too kind.”

Little blush. “Thank you!!”

that’s too bad. he knows all about missing one’s homeland.